


Without Sharp North

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Oral Sex, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: A chance encounter with another universe provides Crowley with a rare opportunity in the form of a willing and interested demonic Aziraphale.-Written for the kink meme prompt foundhere
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 142





	Without Sharp North

The mezzanine of the bookshop was clouded with a fug of cigarette smoke, but it was still better than the hum of holy energy from below. Crowley came up the spiraling stairs, hesitated, and then, because it was better than being downstairs amidst all that terribly earnest bustle and collaboration, went to stand next to the demon leaning over the railing, gazing down over the bookshop with something strange and elliptical in his green and speckled eyes.

“How are they doing?” the demon Aziraphale asked, and Crowley shrugged.

“Confident that they'll figure it out. Your Crowley thinks that working together, they'll have you home for breakfast tomorrow.”

Aziraphale, because no matter how fallen or how different from his own, it could be no one else, took a furtive pull from his cigarette, laughing quietly as he did so.

“He would think that.”

Crowley leaned back against the railing, examining the other demon sideways.

“You don't believe in him?”

“You're a clever boy,” Aziraphale said. “Of course I do.”

Crowley scowled, his hand coming up to touch the snake inscribed in front of his ear.

“I'm not him,” he said stiffly “Would have thought that the eyes and the sigil would have given me away.”

Aziraphale gave him a careless look up and down, and Crowley stirred uneasily, halfway between bristling and maybe swooning a little. Demons looking at each other like that usually only meant one awful thing, but this was still Aziraphale, and.

Well.

This Aziraphale had already threatened to eat their hearts when he first arrived, all fury and hellfire, but his own had had Crowley's heart almost since the beginning, no tearing or teeth necessary.

“You're not,” Aziraphale acknowledged, stubbing out his cigarette on the heel of his hand and pocketing the stub. :”You're like enough, though. Same ridiculous glasses. Same antique car. Same pretty mouth.”

The last was uttered so casually that Crowley laughed in disbelief, shaking his head.

“So do you think you're subtle or something? I already did my falling, thank you. I'm not going to do it again for a sly wink from any inter-dimensional demon of mystery.”

“Why not? Yours isn't fucking you.”

The blunt cruelty made Crowley's head snap back, and it set in like it hadn't before, even through the threats and growls, that, Aziraphale or not, this was a demon. At least he knew how to deal with demons, because he could _not_ deal with Aziraphale speaking like this.

“And neither is yours,”

It was a stab in the dark, and Crowley knew it had struck not by a roar or a lashing blow but by Aziraphale's utter silence and stillness. The demon Aziraphale dressed in grays, dark as charcoal and pale as paper ash. He smelled like cigarette smoke, and when he was being sloppy, which seemed to be often, he let his teeth show, let his eyes glint red. You could have changed Aziraphale's wardrobe under protest, dumped an ashtray over him and gotten him long crocodile teeth and film-quality contacts, but you could never make him this still.

“All right, then,” Crowley said after a long and awkward pause. “I'm going... somewhere else. Sorry to bother you. Someone will call up once the holy-holy-holy brigade have gotten things sorted.”

No way in the world he was turning his back on this one, but just as he was on the verge of climbing over the railing and drifting down to the ground, Aziraphale spoke again.

“You can't make me fall, you know,” he said as if he were only commenting on the weather. “As you said, I have done. There's nothing holy about me to spoil. Unless that's part of the appeal?”

Crowley ignored the cruelty because he was beginning to see how this Aziraphale worked, cruelty the distraction rather than fluttering gestures or well-meaning stammering. Instead he tilted his head, looking at the other demon carefully.

“Is it for you?” he asked, and Aziraphale smiled coldly.

“Oh yes. Barbecue birdie, always a delight.”

Crowley laughed at that, shaking his head.

“Overplayed it, demon. If he believes that, I really will start thinking I got all my smarts after the fall.”

“It's not my business what he does or does not believe,” Aziraphale said, turning away as if he really didn't care.

“Liar again,” Crowley said, and he took a step closer, sublimely aware of the danger and of the attraction.

“If you like honesty so well, you should be downstairs,” Aziraphale said.

He probably should be, because he knew what was going to happen if he stayed. Instead, he reached over, aware every moment of how sharp Aziraphale's teeth were, of how remorseless this one was and how savage. He ran his fingertips over the collar of Aziraphale's dark gray coat before sliding them under the fabric. Aziraphale's skin was cool to the touch, but it should warm up well enough.

“I'm fine right where I am, I think,” he said quietly, and Aziraphale turned his head, kissing the cup of his palm.

*

There was a little-used bedroom on the second floor of the shop, a dull double bed hemmed in on either side with piles of books and pamphlets that Aziraphale hadn't gotten around to sorting yet. When Aziraphale pushed Crowley down onto the mattress, the springs gave up a disappointed groan. Crowley thought that he should have been disappointed as well, in bed with this fallen creature that smelled of smoke and reptilian scales. Instead there was only a flutter of excitement and curiosity in his belly as Aziraphale reached for Crowley's buttons and started to undo them.

“Don't think this is going to be a fairytale,” Aziraphale informed him, opening the front of Crowley's shirt. “I hope you've gotten your innocence well and truly worn out before this- I have no time for virgins.”

Crowley laughed because this one was rather too obvious.

“Nah, a regular Mary Magdalene, me,” he said, stretching out on the bed luxuriously. “I've been letting everyone marquis or higher have a turn.”

Aziraphale's hand tightened on the fabric of his shirt, and Crowley reached up to ruffle his fingers through Aziraphale's hair.

“Hey. Not an angel, remember?” he said almost gently. “Come on.”

Aziraphale nodded curtly, but he was gentle again as he stripped Crowley, starting with his sunglasses and ending with his shoes.

“You?” Crowley asked, tugging at Aziraphale's coat, but the other demon shook his head.

“You wouldn't like it.”

Crowley took him at his word the way he would never take his own Aziraphale's, and he sighed as the demon came down to rest beside him, kissing the point of his jaw and moving down his neck, one heavy clothed arm slung over his belly. There was something predatory about the posture, as if he was holding Crowley in place to devour him, but Crowley only squirmed lazily underneath his bulk, murmuring with pleasure as Aziraphale crowded even closer.

“You're gorgeous, you know,” Aziraphale murmured. “No wonder all of Hell has had you.”

“This is going to go better if you keep your mouth shut,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale huffed a soft laugh. He clearly agreed, however, because he was quiet, nothing but kisses that ran up and down the length of Crowley's smooth body, nuzzling his belly and his thighs before lapping gently at his sharp hips.

Crowley draped one arm over Aziraphale's back, ignoring the plating of spiny ridges running down it from shoulder to waist, obvious even through the layers of clothing over them. It didn't matter to him, just like his yellow eyes and the soft pattern of scales hidden at his joints didn't bother Aziraphale.

_Wouldn't bother my Aziraphale either,_ Crowley thought hazily, and he allowed himself to go a little fuzzy around the edges, looking down and seeing Aziraphale's fair hair, his bulk, his thick hands passing as reverently over Crowley's body as they would over a rare Flemish manuscript.

Crowley sighed softly as Aziraphale took his cock tenderly between his lips, drawing on the tip with prim delicacy until it stood up hard. He barely knew he was thrusting into Aziraphale's mouth until Aziraphale growled, a low and inhuman sound that sent a shiver through Crowley's body.

_Oh, that's rather a lot of teeth_ , he thought, but that only made him harder as he pushed in, his hands threaded through Aziraphale's hair and demanding more.

The heat of the demon's mouth and the danger were enough to make him lightheaded, and when Aziraphale pulled away, Crowley made a desperate little mewling sound.

“Close, very close,” he protested, and Aziraphale dropped a kiss on his belly.

“Wait just a little for me, darling,” he said, almost as good as the real thing. “Don't you want to spill together?”

Crowley bit his lip with pleasure as Aziraphale settled himself between his legs, spreading them so wide they creaked. There was no give in Aziraphale at all, his clothes making him look even bigger, and Crowley sighed at being sheltered and overwhelmed. Two magically slicked fingers came down to press firmly against his hole, rubbing in small circular motions that asked more than demanded.

“Hey,” Crowley said suddenly. “Is this an eyes-averted, no-real-names thing or can we kiss?”

He thought he might have pushed it too far when Aziraphale stilled, but then the other demon fell on him as if he had been starving for this more than anything else, his mouth devouring Crowley's with a hunger that would have frightened him if he hadn't known it so well. It was almost perfect, and Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale tightly, clinging for all he was worth, because this wasn't his Aziraphale, but it was still _an_ Aziraphale, and that counted for something. Always would.

Aziraphale only broke the kiss to return to hurriedly preparing him. There was no cruelty in the haste at all, only a need that Crowley could excuse even if it was a little rough and careless. Then his fingers were gone to be replaced with the tip of his cock. The blunt head probed against Crowley, a thick pressure that made Crowley flush with need.

“Come on,” he murmured teasingly, his head lolling back on the pillow. “Don't you want me at all?”

“Like I want to eat the world, like I want every word ever written tattooed up and down my spine,” Aziraphale promised.

It was almost too strange, almost too foreign, but then Aziraphale entered him with one tight stroke, drawing a long soft cry from Crowley, not stopping until he was fully pushed inside him. It was so good, and right now, close enough was good enough. Crowley reached up to dig his fingernails into Aziraphale's clothed arms.

“Come on, angel,” he said, eyes closed, and obligingly, Aziraphale pushed into him, long deep strokes that drew him higher and tighter with every pass, striking just the right spot so perfectly that he would have suspected a minor miracle was involved if he had been thinking of such things.

Of course he wasn't; he wasn't thinking of anything at all except for Aziraphale between his legs, filling him, murmuring painfully soft words he wasn't meant to hear, and he hugged him tight, because it was _Aziraphale,_ and that was all that mattered, all that had _ever_ mattered.

“Please,” he said, and Aziraphale's well-manicured hand came up between them, wrapping around his cock with a merciless grip. It only took two or three strokes before Crowley was spilling into his fist, and he was still shaking, face buried in Aziraphale's coat, as the demon pumped into him one last time, filling him with a growl that seemed to shake the world.

After a moment, Aziraphale pulled away and tugged them to their sides, wrapping Crowley protectively in a tangle of limbs and cotton tweed. If he ignored the burning smell, it was nearly as good as he imagined such a thing would be.

He thought that Aziraphale would speak- at least, he started to a few times. Finally though, he only rose to his feet, absently cleaning himself with a snap of his fingers and doing up his trousers. He didn't look at Crowley at all. Crowley expected Aziraphale would leave as he finished straightening his clothes and fussily tugging his collar back into proper order, but the demon surprised him.

“As you are, knowing what you know, would you forgive me, do you think?” Aziraphale asked, his voice so casual that it must have meant a great deal to him.

Crowley thought of the angelic version of himself sitting in the kitchen, wound as tight as a clock-spring, righteous, earnest, doubting as anything and no more lucky than he was.

“I would,” he said. “But you know. Demon. I wouldn't necessarily trust me, if I were you.”

Aziraphale laughed out loud at that, surprise and humor making him indistinguishable from his counterpart for the first time.

“Fairly spoken,” he said, and then more quietly, “I would forgive you, too.”

“Less important than if I ever forgive myself, isn't it?” asked Crowley, and he turned away to dress.

**Author's Note:**

> -This is in fact Aziracroc from["Waste More Idle Breath"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23941966)


End file.
